<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>let your heart be light by fallingthorns</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28137486">let your heart be light</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/fallingthorns/pseuds/fallingthorns'>fallingthorns</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>IT (Movies - Muschietti)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Accidental Spooning, Christmas, Eddie Kaspbrak Lives, Eddie has a Dalmatian cinematic universe, I said I Will throw in every Hallmark movie trope I can and then fill it with intense yearning, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Physical Disability, Post-Canon, Richie Tozier is a Good Friend, Sharing a Bed, shockingly this is a get together fic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 15:14:55</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,906</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28137486</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/fallingthorns/pseuds/fallingthorns</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Richie knows three things and three things only. The first is that New York is fucking freezing in December. The second is that he's about to see his best friend for the first time since he left the hospital after almost being murdered by a fucking space clown. And the third is that he is 100% head-over-heels in love with Eddie Kaspbrak, who is more than a little bit grinchy this holiday season.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>140</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>let your heart be light</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hello and welcome to my Christmas fic &lt;3 Shockingly, I have written some unestablished relationship that is turning out to be quite long, so here is part 1. This is inspired by a Hallmark movie that has somehow turned into a post-canon beast filled with intense yearning that so often accompanies the holiday season.</p>
<p>cw: Intense Yearning, Hallmark movie mentions, mentions of physical disability, emet because this is Richie.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Richie steps out of the airport and immediately shoves his hands in his pockets. The sharp, cool wind of New York hits him instantly. He can feel his cheeks turning pink from the cold and he can practically hear Eddie in his head telling him that he should have worn a hat and should have a winter coat on, it’s the middle of December in New York, Richie, for fuck’s sake –</p>
<p>Which, okay, are all valid points that he knows he’s going to hear as soon as he’s at Eddie’s, but he’s from California where there’s no need for a winter coat. He thinks he owns maybe one hat from his hipster-beanie days, but he isn’t really sure how warm that would be against the harsh east coast wind.</p>
<p>Teeth chattering, Richie slides into the first cab that stops for him and gives the driver Eddie’s address. He sits on his hands in the back of the cab, willing his teeth to stop chattering for even just ten seconds so that he can catch his breath. There’s a fucking reason he lives in a state that’s only warm, he’s not fucking made for this cold. The snow makes him wet and gloomy which he’s only allowed to feel on the inside, thank you very much, and it really doesn’t mess with his wardrobe of several obnoxiously colored button-up shirts that many would describe as ‘Hawaiian.’ Hell, he didn’t even remember the cold until he got the phone call from Mike in August and he realized that, well fuck, he grew up in Maine where winters were cold and snowy and wet and, once everyone else but Mike had left, lonely. So maybe it’s no wonder that he really just isn’t fond of the cold.</p>
<p>Besides, the cold interferes with his sunny disposition and he thinks it makes him significantly less funny.</p>
<p>Once his hands are fully functional again, Richie shoots Eddie a text saying he’ll be there in thirty minutes. He hasn’t seen Eddie since Thanksgiving when they all gathered at Bev and Ben’s in Chicago, but they’ve talked pretty much every single day. Richie knows that Eddie moved out of his shared house with Myra in September the week he returned home from the hospital. He rented a small house in the suburbs outside of the city, big enough for one and maybe a guest, and he, begrudgingly, uses a cane and attends physical therapy at least twice a week now. Richie knows Eddie hates it, hates that it makes him slow and makes him feel ‘old,’ which Richie assures him he isn’t because plenty of people use mobility aids, and Richie is really just thankful that his friend is alive.</p>
<p>His friend. His childhood, lifelong friend who Richie desperately wants to kiss. Richie groans and rests his forehead against the car window, closing his eyes and willing himself not to think about it. He told himself he wouldn’t, <em>couldn’t </em>think about Eddie that way. Eddie was separated but not even officially divorced yet, and Richie doesn’t even know for sure if Eddie is gay or interested. Eddie has said things, mentioned in passing things about men and finding himself in the group chat, but he hasn’t officially come out to anybody, so Richie is very firmly not getting his hopes up until then. And, besides, even if he was, who could want Richie in all his schlubby, 40-year-old glory? He certainly doesn’t.</p>
<p>But the fact still stands that he is probably desperately in love with Eddie and has been since he was 13 and chasing down a monster space clown for the first time. It’s fucking pathetic when he thinks about it, considering he didn’t know anything about it or Eddie for the last two decades, but the feelings are there and back with a vengeance and Richie just has to live with them.</p>
<p>The car turns down the street, entering Eddie’s subdivision. Richie looks around, noting the respectably sized houses that are all decorated for the holidays. Strands of lights and light-up deer and wreaths illuminate the houses of the subdivision, and Richie is frankly amazed at everyone’s dedication to the cause. In the darkening evening, the street is lit simply from the fact that everybody has some form of holiday decoration lighting up their portion of the street. The snowflakes glitter as they fall from the sky, and maybe Richie can understand the appeal of snow and winter if this is what it can look like.</p>
<p>The car makes another turn and Richie notices that all the houses on this street are lit except for one. It’s a smaller house, tucked in the corner with its backyard up against a small wooded area, somewhat secluded from the others. Even if the driver wasn’t slowing down in front of the house, Richie would bet money that this was Eddie’s house. It’s small and symmetrical but, most importantly and notably, it isn’t decorated at all. Richie knows that Eddie has been less than enthused about the upcoming holiday season, grumbling on the phone about the crowds and the fake sales and how expensive directions are, what the fuck, why did he let Myra keep all of their decorations, now he has to buy all <em>new </em>ones - ?</p>
<p>So, yeah, Richie knows that Eddie is a little grinchy this holiday season, but even if he wasn’t, Eddie is in no physical condition to be hanging lights or setting up reindeer or putting up a Christmas tree. He sustained a major trauma just a few months ago and is still recovering, and Richie and Eddie both know that he now has limitations that he didn’t have before.</p>
<p>Richie slides out of the car, pays the driver, and grabs his bag out of the trunk before turning towards the house. He’s seen it on Facetime and in videos that Eddie’s sent him, so it’s not completely unfamiliar, and it looks pretty much the same, minus the 5’9” man standing in the doorway, leaning on his cane with one hand and waving at Richie with the other.</p>
<p>Richie feels himself break out into a grin, taking a few careful steps forward to make sure the driveway isn’t slippery before jogging up the driveway and up to Eddie’s porch, skipping both of the steps before landing right in front of Eddie. He knows he’s incredibly out of shape and it shows by how hard he’s breathing from such a short jog, but he doesn’t know if his racing heart is from the increased workload or from the fact that Eddie is now grinning at him and standing right in front of him. Eddie is bundled up even though he’s only a foot outside his front door, winter coat, earmuffs, and mittens in place with the door shut behind him, likely to keep the warm air from escaping.</p>
<p>Richie thinks he looks fucking cute in his earmuffs, but that’s something he thinks he should probably keep to himself.</p>
<p>“Hey, Eds,” Richie says once he’s in front of him, giving Eddie as soft smile and wave as he bounces from foot to foot to try and ward off the chill making its way through his body. “Missed you, buddy.”</p>
<p>Eddie gives him a soft smile before taking a small step forward, moving his cane, then his right leg, then his left, and wrapping his right arm around Richie to pull him in for a hug. Richie drops his bag at his feet and wraps both arms around his waist, holding him close as Eddie buries his head in Richie’s shoulder and squeezes him tightly. He knows Eddie’s been lonely, living in the small house in New York by himself after getting a divorce while the rest of them are scattered throughout the country, and fuck, does he know what that feels like. He’s been lonely for over two decades now and it will be the last thing he does making sure that Eddie never has to feel like that.</p>
<p>“Hi,” Eddie mumbles into his shoulder, and Richie has to fight every urge in his body to not plant a kiss to the top of Eddie’s head right then and there.</p>
<p>“While this is all very cinematic,” Richie starts, slowly pulling away from Eddie’s embrace even though every cell in his body is telling him not to, “I think I’m going to turn into a fucking icicle if I don’t get in the heat soon.”</p>
<p>Eddie huffs and takes a step back, turning and slowly opening the door. “I don’t know why you don’t even own a fucking winter coat, Richie, you can’t tell me this is the first time you’ve traveled to a place that actually has winter, seriously, you do fucking tours and shit and have for years and you’re telling me you don’t own a single winter coat . . .”</p>
<p>Eddie goes on reprimanding Richie about being inappropriately dressed for the seasons, but Richie is distracted by the sound of what he thinks are pattering paws on the hardwood floor, followed by a small yelp and then suddenly, there’s a small Dalmatian puppy sitting at his feet, staring up at him with a wiggling butt and a long tongue lolling out of his mouth. Richie tilts his head at the dog, wondering if maybe he’s seeing things. He <em>did</em> take some Xanax on the plane to calm his flying anxiety – this could just be him still mildly out of it. Eddie hasn’t mentioned a dog, so Richie really doesn’t think that this could be his. He thinks Eddie would have told him if he made this kind of significant life change.</p>
<p>But then the puppy flops onto his belly and starts gnawing on one of Richie’s shoelaces, his tail wagging in the air as he starts to destroy the only pair of Richie’s shoes that doesn’t actually have frayed laces. Richie suddenly can’t deny that there is a real and live Dalmatian puppy at his feet.</p>
<p>“Uh, Eds?” Richie asks, bending down to remove the puppy’s mouth from his shoelaces. It wriggles out of Richie’s grasp before deciding that actually, Richie should provide some pets, rolling onto his back and wriggling around until Richie relents and rubs his belly. “Got something you want to share?”</p>
<p>Eddie is removing his coat, earmuffs, and mittens, hanging them up on the coat rack next to the door. “I kept meaning to tell everyone,” Eddie mumbles, groaning as he bends down to slide off his boots. “I just – he was kind of a spur of the moment decision, I didn’t want anybody – they wouldn’t, I didn’t . . .”</p>
<p>Eddie trials off, coming back to upright once his shoes are off and biting his lips as he looks down at the puppy, no longer lying on his back but instead running circles around Richie. “I only got him a week or so ago. His name is Harold.”</p>
<p>Richie snorts and stands upright, going to stand next to Eddie and watching as Harold runs down the hallway. “Harold,” Richie laughs, grinning as Eddie furrows his brow at him. “You named your fucking puppy Harold.”</p>
<p>“He came with the name, asshole, I wasn’t about to <em>change</em> his name, why the fuck would I?”</p>
<p>“People change puppy names all the time, Eds, it’s just like, a thing,” Richie laughs again, feeling lighter than he has in months. “Harold. He’s going to be made fun of in school.”</p>
<p>“He’s a fucking dog, not a kid,” Eddie huffs, leaning his cane against the wall and crossing his arms over his chest. “And Harold is a respectable name. It’s distinguished.”</p>
<p>“Well, your distinguished Harold is trying to chew a hole in the corner of your wall.”</p>
<p>Eddie groans and picks up his cane, heading over to where Harold is, indeed, gnawing at the corner of his wall. “I just fucking painted, dude, that can’t taste good,” Eddie sighs, groaning again as he bends down to scoop the puppy up. “I’m too fucking old for all of this squatting.”</p>
<p>Richie watches Eddie as he moves into the kitchen with Harold. He definitely walks slower now than he did back in August, a slight limp on his right leg as he leans into the cane, his movements all guarded and, if he takes too big of a step, Richie sees the brief flash of discomfort across his face before it vanishes. Richie knows from many late-night phone calls that Eddie’s physical therapist thinks he’ll probably always have to use the cane to some extent for the rest of his life, mostly when out of the house, but that he’ll have to continue working to get to that point. Eddie always sighs at this part when he complains to Richie about it, because they both know he’s incredibly lucky that he didn’t have worse spinal cord damage after being skewered by a fucking space clown claw, but it’s still something that Eddie never thought he would be dealing with by the age of 40. A fucking cane.</p>
<p>Eddie sets Harold down once they’re in the living room before flopping down onto the couch. “I’ll get you something to drink in a second, I just need to sit for like, five minutes,” Eddie says with a sigh. “Sorry, stamina is still not my friend.”</p>
<p>Richie goes to sit next to him, wanting so badly to wrap his arm around Eddie’s shoulders and hold him close, tell him that it’s okay, everything is okay and alright because all he really wants is Eddie warm and alive next to him, which he has. So he’s okay.</p>
<p>But he doesn’t say any of those things, instead patting Eddie’s knee gently. “I’m good for now, Eds,” he says quietly, because he is. He’s good.</p>
<p>Harold barks at nothing and Eddie lets out a soft laugh, and the sound is always music to Richie’s ears. He always wants to just make Eddie laugh and smile.</p>
<p>Richie glances around the room now, trying to ignore how Eddie shifted a little closer to him, his head nearly resting on Richie’s shoulder. It’s a mere week until Christmas, and there is not a single decoration other than the two-foot tall, light-up snowman sitting by the fireplace. The house is sparsely decorated, and Richie knows it is just a rental and that it came furnished, but it almost seems like Eddie added nothing of his own other than a puppy and the snowman. He wonders if Eddie doesn’t like Christmas or the holidays or if he really is just feeling grinchy given his situation, but he remembers that Eddie as a kid used to love the holiday, using all of his relatives that came to visit as a veil to get out of his mom’s house and spend the holiday weeks with Richie and his family as much as possible.</p>
<p>Richie’s hands are still cold, so he shoves them under his thighs to try and warm them between his legs and the couch cushion. Eddie frowns at his legs before looking up at Richie, his frown intensifying when he must still see the pink tinge to Richie’s cheeks. “I swear to fucking god, if you got pneumonia from being outside without any winter gear on . . .” He grumbles, tugging on one of Richie’s forearms until he slides his hand out. Eddie firmly grasps it between both of his own, rubbing their hands together to create friction between the three hands. “These things are like fucking icicles.”</p>
<p>“Poor circulation,” Richie supplies, trying to focus on anything but the feeling of Eddie’s hands against his own. Once Eddie is satisfied that Richie’s right hand is sufficiently warmed, he moves to the left and does the same thing. Richie focuses on Harold at his feet again, pawing at Richie’s sock with his tail wagging.</p>
<p>“I’ll make us some peppermint hot cocoa in a second,” Eddie says, setting Richie’s hand down and back onto his lap. Richie looks over at Eddie and sees the dark circles under his eyes, the slight crease of worry in his forehead. He looks tired, which is understandable given that he’s recovering from a major trauma that happened only a few months ago, but he also just looks . . . sad. Lonely.</p>
<p>And this is why Richie came, he knows it is. He knows Facetime is both the best and worst friend ever, as it’s easier to fake how you are doing but then it can make you look even worse than you actually feel. And Richie had sensed it even though his phone screen; he could feel that Eddie was tired, dragging. Richie himself felt like that back in L.A., especially after Bill went on his Floridian road trip with Mike, leaving Richie with just his phone and friends scattered throughout the country.</p>
<p>Richie suggested coming to Eddie for Christmas randomly one evening, once all the Losers had decided to get together for the New Year instead of Christmas. Eddie offered to come to California, but Richie knew traveling took a toll on him these days, his body not quite back to traveling standards.</p>
<p>Richie is snapped out of his thoughts by Eddie tapping his finger against Richie’s thigh to get his attention. “Hey,” he says softly, eyes searching Richie’s face. They’re sitting close now, closer than they even were just a few minutes before, pressed thigh to thigh even though the couch could easily seat four of them. “You okay?”</p>
<p>Richie takes a deep breath and nods, because he is okay. He’s tired from traveling and he’s worried about Eddie and his cane and his frown and the bags under his eyes and his one single holiday decoration in sight. But Eddie is here and alive and looking at him with concern, and for right now, Richie is okay. He’s content.</p>
<p>In a moment of what is probably bravery mixed with a little stupidity, Richie stretches one arm along the back of the couch behind Eddie, effectively wrapping his arm around Eddie’s shoulders. Eddie sags into his chest a little and lets out a sigh, his head resting on Richie’s chest just under his shoulder.</p>
<p>“I’m okay,” he tells Eddie, his voice just barely above a whisper. His hand traces patterns on Eddie’s upper arm, and he knows that they both can feel the other’s loneliness right now.  He thinks he can put his feelings to the side, the aching feeling of wanting and yearning that’s been stuck in his heart since he first laid eyes on Eddie in the Jade of the Orient. He can put it aside for this, to have this, to just be here with Eddie and be what Eddie needs right now. Because, he thinks, he probably needs it, too. It’s been a long time since Richie has spent the holidays with anyone but himself, and he thinks that this one might be one of the best ones he’s had since leaving Derry and forgetting everything.</p>
<p>But, for fuck’s sake, he’s going to decorate the hell out of Eddie’s house whether he wants him to or not.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Eddie orders them a pizza, too late for either of them to even think about cooking but they both admit they are in need of at least something to eat before going to bed. They eat on the couch, Eddie not wanting to move and Richie wanting to do whatever Eddie wants to do. Harold sits at their feet, his tail wagging as he stares at them, hoping and waiting for them to drop their pizza on the floor. Richie tries to slide him a piece of crust and Eddie glares at him, his eyebrow furrowed and frowning at Richie until Richie’s hand retreats away from the crust and Harold turns his big puppy eyes onto Eddie.</p>
<p>“Aw, Eds, come on,” Richie whines playfully, knocking his knee against Eddie’s. “How can you resist his eyes?”</p>
<p>“I can’t,” Eddie sighs, setting his empty plate down onto the coffee table. “That’s why we have to set boundaries.”</p>
<p>Richie laughs and throws Harold’s toy across the living room floor, watching as he stumbles after it. He feels himself slouching into the couch cushions, wondering where the spare bedroom is because he feels about ready to crash for the night. The exhaustion of traveling is hitting him hard and fast, and he really wants nothing more than a hot shower and to pass out for the next 12 hours.</p>
<p>“Hey,” Eddie’s voice startles him out of his haze, Richie’s head shooting up. He grunts and rubs his eyes under his glasses, thinking he must have nodded off for a few seconds to cause Eddie to wake him up. “Come on, sleepy. Shower and then bed.”</p>
<p>Eddie stands up with a groan, grabbing his cane and their empty plates and heading into the kitchen. Richie and Harold both follow after him, pausing as Eddie dumps their plates in the sink before heading down the hallway. It really is a small house, one story, and from what Richie can see, there’s only three doors in the hall, one of which he knows is the bathroom and the other is the basement, which means the third must be Eddie’s room. His head is so foggy and hazy that he doesn’t even register that there probably isn’t a spare bedroom in the house; he just follows Eddie down the hall and towards the last door.</p>
<p>Eddie opens the door, gently pushing it open to reveal a neat and tidy bedroom with a king-sized bed. Richie blinks inside, not taking any steps to follow Eddie in as he enters the room. It’s clearly the master bedroom – Eddie’s bedroom – and Richie is too tired to register why Eddie might be bringing him to his room.</p>
<p>“Shower’s through there,” Eddie says absently, pointing behind him towards the bathroom as he opens a drawer and begins to dig around. “Help yourself to any towels and washcloths or whatever.”</p>
<p>“Uh,” Richie says, reality finally catching up to him as he realizes that Eddie is telling him to use the master bath attached to the master bedroom that he led Richie into. Richie glances down at his bag, unsure of where to put it, unsure of what the fuck is actually happening right now, and wondering how he ended up standing in the entryway of Eddie fucking Kaspbrak’s master bedroom.</p>
<p>“You can set that down,” Eddie says, gesturing at Richie’s bag and setting a pair of pajama bottoms and a plain white t-shirt on the bed. He glances up at Richie, and Richie knows that he’s just standing there with his mouth gaping open like a moron. “Rich?”</p>
<p>“Sorry, I just . . .” Richie trails off, rubbing his eyes with his hand. “I’m so fucking tired. Sorry, I . . . Is there not a spare bedroom?”</p>
<p>Richie has to lean against the wall, exhaustion wafting over him in waves as he continues to stare at Eddie. Eddie’s eyes go wide as he looks at Richie, and Richie sees a brief moment of panic flash across his face before it returns to neutral.</p>
<p>“Oh, I thought I told you,” Eddie says, voice too casual. Richie is too fucking tired to try and interpret anything that Eddie is saying. “Um. Only one bedroom. I can make up the couch for you, but I know your back has been bad since Neibolt, and I can’t sleep on the couch because . . .” Eddie gestures at himself, leaning heavily onto his left side to avoid putting any pressure on his right leg. “I guess I just figured it would be okay . . .”</p>
<p>Richie swears he must be dreaming, because if he didn’t know any better, he would swear that Eddie was suggesting that they share a bed. He glances over at the bed again, and it <em>is </em>a big bed, large enough to fit the two of them with extra room, even. It looks warm and comfortable and Richie just really wants to lay down, doesn’t even want to think about how sharing a bed with Eddie is something every single bone in his body aches to do.</p>
<p>“S’fine,” Richie mumbles, turning to head into the bathroom. “Good, even. As long as you’re okay with it?” He wants to check, wants to make sure he’s not going to be putting Eddie out or making him uncomfortable, because the literal last thing Richie wants is to make him staying in Eddie’s home an uncomfortable experience for him. Richie, who’s lived his whole adult life without any real human connections, who doesn’t really know friendship boundaries because the only close friends he’s ever had were the Losers, and being best friends at 13 is different than being best friends at 40. He thinks he needs a handbook, because he has no idea how the fuck to be friends with his own best friend, especially when he thinks about maybe kissing said best friend every other second.</p>
<p>God, he’s such a fucking mess. Richie yawns again and knows that he’s starting to spiral like he does when he’s exhausted, his brain working faster than the rest of him, leaving him behind in the dust as it takes off and starts spiraling.</p>
<p>“It was my idea,” Eddie says quietly, looking down at his pajamas on the bed. “I wouldn’t offer if I wasn’t sure.”</p>
<p>His voice is soft, quiet, quieter than Richie was expecting. He’s used to Eddie being loud and swearing and sometimes just fucking obnoxious. But Eddie, right now, standing in front of him, is quiet, almost withdrawn, and Richie wants to know how he got like this; <em>why </em>he got like this. He looks so tired, but a different tired than what Richie feels. Right now, Richie is exhausted just from a long day of traveling. Eddie looks exhausted from the fact that he exists.</p>
<p>“Eds,” Richie starts to say, but Eddie shakes his head once before scooping up his pajamas.</p>
<p>“Go take your shower before you fall asleep standing up,” Eddie tells him. “I’ll get the bed ready for us.”</p>
<p>Richie takes that as his invitation to head into the bathroom. He can’t seem to wrap his head around the fact that Eddie wants him to sleep in his bed, even though the reasons he provided are perfectly logical. Of course they are though, this is Eddie. He never does anything without thinking it through, and clearly he has thought this through because he didn’t hesitate at all when offering for Richie to sleep in there with him. He very easily could have just told Richie he would make up the couch for him and demanded he sleep there, but he didn’t.</p>
<p>Richie lets the hot water spread over him, his eyes drooping at the comfort of the heat and steam surrounding him. Eddie, to no surprise at all, has glorious water pressure, better than what his shower back in California has. Richie thinks he could stay under this showerhead forever and just avoid whatever is to come back in Eddie’s bedroom.</p>
<p>Fucking. Eddie’s bedroom. With Eddie’s bed. That Richie is going to be sleeping in. With Eddie next to him.</p>
<p>He steps out of the shower and towels himself off before slipping on a pair of plaid, flannel pajama bottoms and a plain grey t-shirt. As he exits the bathroom, he thinks, again, that there should be some kind of manual for this. A <em>How to Share a Bed with Your Best Friend Who You Also Are in Love with for Dummies</em>, except in this case, the dummy is Richie Tozier and Richie Tozier only.</p>
<p>Eddie has the bed turned down, the sheets and comforter pulled to the end of the bed so that they can easily slide in. He seems to have placed an assortment of pillows on the one side of the bed for Richie to choose from – and of course he has multiple different kinds of pillows, and Richie would guess that they are also probably different levels of firmness and memory foam, because he would expect nothing less from Eddie.</p>
<p>Eddie is already on what Richie guesses is his side of the bed, clad in his navy pajama bottoms and a plain white t-shirt. He’s holding his phone over his face with only the bedside lamp on for light, and the glow of his phone is illuminating his face in such a way that it makes his eyes somehow look even larger than they actually are, which Richie really didn’t think was possible. He looks content, and Richie firmly does not think about how he wants this every single night but under a different context.</p>
<p>Richie makes his way over to the bed, smiling tentatively at Eddie when he glances over at him. He can feel his damp hair sticking gently to his forehead as he looks down at the bed, glancing through the assortment of pillows to find one that he thinks will most resemble his pancaked, shitty pillow that he has at home.</p>
<p>“Why –” Richie starts with a laugh, realizing that all the pillows are in fact new and will not resemble his shitty pancake, “– the fuck do you have so many pillows?”</p>
<p>Eddie lets out a laugh that resembles more of a grumble, and Richie’s feels his heart flip and constrict in his chest at the sound. “It was the first time I was able to pick a pillow for myself, okay, I had no idea what I was doing,” Eddie says with a huff. “So I just bought, like, all of them?”</p>
<p>Richie glances over at Eddie before grabbing a pillow that he’s sure will feel better than his shitty pancake. He gathers the rest of them and sets them on the chair to the side of the bed, flopping his chosen one onto the head of the bed before gracelessly flopping beside Eddie, turning onto his side to face him as he tucks his arm under the pillow.</p>
<p>“You’re sure this isn’t weird?” Richie asks hesitantly, his voice quiet in the dimly lit bedroom, not wanting to disturb the peace.</p>
<p>Eddie sighs and sets his phone on the bedside table, turning off the lamp and rolling onto his side to face Richie. “It’s fine, Rich,” he says quietly. “We’re too fucking old to be sleeping on the couch. And . . .” Eddie trails off. Richie can just make out his silhouette in the darkness of the room, but he thinks Eddie might be biting his lip. Richie yawns once, feeling his eyes starting to droop closed even though he desperately wants to know how Eddie was going to finish that sentence.</p>
<p>“And . . .?” He asks through a yawn.</p>
<p>Eddie sighs again. “I just like having you close,” he whispers, so quiet that Richie almost can’t hear him in his half-asleep state. “It’s, um. Nice. Having you here.”</p>
<p>Richie thinks he understands, maybe. They were apart for over 20 years, reunited only because of a demon-space-clown that almost murdered Eddie. And Eddie was seriously injured, almost died, and now lives in this house by himself with a puppy. Of course he’s glad to have some company for once, even if it is just Richie in his large and obnoxious glory.</p>
<p>“Think you could do better than me for company,” Richie grunts, fighting to keep his eyes open. “I probably take up too much room. M’just a waste of space sometimes.”</p>
<p>Richie feels his eyes drooping as sleep clouds his mind, the room fading around him as he feels the bed shift next to him. He feels the covers being pulled up higher around him, followed by a slight pressure against his cheek that is probably just his imagination.</p>
<p>“You’re not a waste of space to me,” Richie hears just as he’s about to fall completely into a slumber. He feels another pressure, this time to his forehead, brief and soft and something that he’s pretty sure would be a forehead kiss if any of this was real. He’s sure he’s imagining it, that it’s dream-Eddie whispering into his ear and kissing his forehead before settling back onto his side of the bed.</p>
<p>“Goodnight, Richie,” Eddie whispers into the night, and Richie feels himself fade off into sleep, hoping that he doesn’t do anything embarrassing in the night, like cuddling Eddie.</p>
<hr/>
<p>He wakes up cuddling Eddie.</p>
<p>Richie squints in the direction of where he thinks he set his glasses the night before, his head foggy with sleep and his body aching from a whole day of travel and what he assumes was a long-ass sleep. His hand fumbles at the bedside table for his glasses, careful not to move any other part of his body as he sets them on his face. He curses his eyesight for being so bad that he can’t even see Eddie’s face next to him without his glasses on, and no, that’s <em>not</em> why he wanted them, thank you very much, he just really fucking hates being blind for longer than 30 seconds. Call it the clown paranoia, but he doesn’t like to let his defenses down for that long.</p>
<p>But now that he <em>can</em> see, Richie takes in Eddie’s sleeping form behind him, registering for the first time that Eddie is spooning him. Eddie’s nose is tucked into the top of Richie’s shoulder, his leg twined between Richie’s own, and Richie can feel the warmth of him along his whole body. His arm rests gently but firmly along his waist, bunching his shirt up in the front enough that his belly is sticking out a little bit. He would maybe be embarrassed about the situation, but he is so distracted by the revelation that Eddie is <em>spooning</em> him that he doesn’t have any room in his brain left for bashfulness.</p>
<p>Richie isn’t sure what he should do now that he’s awake. He really didn’t expect Eddie to still be asleep by the time he was up – which, as he glances at the clock, he realizes it’s 10 AM, and he would have bet any amount of money on Eddie being an early riser.</p>
<p>But he knows that Eddie’s been having trouble sleeping. If he’s not plagued with nightmares, then the aches and pains of his healing body sometimes keep him up at night. He’s called Richie at midnight on more than one occasion complaining about how he can’t sleep because his hip or back hurts and none of his medications are working, and Richie is always happy to just talk to him until he dozes off while still on the call.</p>
<p>So maybe he shouldn’t be surprised that Eddie is still sleeping, especially since it seems like he had a good night’s rest. His hand shifts in Richie’s shirt, fisting the front of it as he somehow tries to tug Richie closer. Richie lets out a breath through his nose and briefly closes his eyes, trying to ignore how his heart is flipping in his chest with want, and he absolutely is not letting himself think about how he wants this every single fucking morning.</p>
<p>Eddie grumbles behind him, and Richie closes his eyes to pretend to still be asleep before remembering that he has his fucking glasses on. He lets out a sigh before slowly sitting up, extracting himself from Eddie’s grasp to save them both from the embarrassment of waking up tangled together and the aftermath of How The Fuck Do We Deal With This. Maybe he’ll save that awkwardness for another day.</p>
<p>He quietly wanders out of the room, pausing outside of the bedroom door to take one last glance at Eddie’s sleeping form before heading towards the kitchen, thinking that he can maybe scrounge up ingredients to make them some French toast for breakfast. Richie is halfway down the hallway when he hears a tiny yelp-slash-squeak coming from the living room, and he suddenly remembers that Eddie has a fucking Dalmatian puppy named Harold that is sleeping in a crate.</p>
<p>Richie heads over to the living room, lifting the towel up on Harold’s crate so that he can peer inside. Harold’s whole body is wiggling in excitement at Richie, his tail wagging behind him and clanking against the metal bars of his crate. It’s a spacious crate, expensive, with enough room for Harold to have a dog bed and a few toys and plenty of room to move. Of course Eddie only got the best for his fucking puppy named Harold.</p>
<p>“Come on, buddy,” Richie says softly, unlatching the door of the crate and opening it. Harold comes bounding out, immediately attacking Richie’s socks and rolling onto his back, making little yips and squeaks of excitement at finally being released from captivity.</p>
<p>Richie somehow manages to corral Harold to the door, grabbing his leash and hooking it to him with only moderate amounts of struggling as Harold keeps wiggling away from him.</p>
<p>“Fucking hell, dude, you’re worse than Eddie after one too many cups of coffee,” Richie says right before he manages to clip the leash onto Harold’s collar. “Come on, outside before you piss in the house.”</p>
<p>Richie stands at the edge of the grass, wishing he had put a coat or sweatshirt or something on over his thin t-shirt. It’s fucking cold in New York in December and he really doesn’t want to get lectured about being improperly dressed again.</p>
<p>Harold is on his third circle of sniffing, trying to find the perfect place to do his business. Richie shifts foot to foot and stifles the urge to pressure the dog, and he’s just about to give his leash a gentle tug to redirect him when he feels the sudden weight of a warm, fuzzy blanket flop over his shoulders.</p>
<p>Richie startles, glancing over his shoulder to see Eddie behind him. Eddie is wrapped in a blanket of his own with a cup of coffee in his hands, the steam from the mug visible in the cold morning air.</p>
<p>“So your dumbass doesn’t freeze to death,” Eddie grumbles, closing his eyes as he inhales the scent of his coffee. “Only you would go outside in the middle of December without any kind of outerwear.”</p>
<p>Richie wraps the blanket around himself tighter with his free hand. Harold sees Eddie and lets out a small bark before quickly doing his business and running over to them.</p>
<p>“Oh, <em>now</em> he decides to go,” Richie grumbles as Harold sits at Eddie’s feet, tail wagging behind him.</p>
<p>Eddie shrugs, leaning down to scratch behind Harold’s ears. “He knows I don’t let him sniff the yellow snow for hours,” Eddie says with a shrug. “Come on, inside before you freeze your balls off.”</p>
<p>Richie snorts and follows Eddie and Harold inside, Eddie talking to the dog about if he’s ready for breakfast, if he had a good sleep, if Richie woke him up this morning. Richie is suddenly struck with the realization that Eddie probably talks to Harold like this all the time. Eddie <em>loves</em> to talk; everyone who knows him knows how much he loves to talk, and Richie can only imagine how it is living on your own for the first time in forever.</p>
<p>Richie notices now that Eddie isn’t using his cane. He can see it resting against the kitchen counter, right next to the coffee pot, probably when Eddie realized that he needed two hands to be able to carry the blanket for Richie and a coffee for himself out onto the back porch. Richie watches as he walks around the kitchen, the slight hitch in his step and the brief flash of discomfort that flashes across his face every few steps.</p>
<p>He’s so strong; so brave and a fighter, not even letting death win the battle against himself. Even when he had a gaping hole in his back and his chest, he still had enough energy to tell the nurses and doctors every single one of his allergies as they rushed him into an operating room on a gurney.</p>
<p>Richie clears his throat and heads over to the coffee pot, frowning at all the buttons and numbers as he realizes it’s one of those fancy machines that does way more than just brew the coffee for you.</p>
<p>“Uh,” Richie says, frowning at it again and wondering if he should just press the green button and see what happens.</p>
<p>Eddie glances over his shoulder and sighs before reaching over and punching a few buttons on the machine and setting a mug under it. “It’s not rocket science.”</p>
<p>“Dude, all you need is like, a coffee pot and a filter for perfect coffee.”</p>
<p>“Wait until you try this.”</p>
<p>“It’s going to taste like coffee.”</p>
<p>“Yeah no shit, Sherlock, because it’s fucking coffee,” Eddie huffs, leaning against the counter and watching as Richie pours his coffee.</p>
<p>Richie laughs softly, a quiet chuckle in the stillness of the kitchen. He can vaguely hear Harold running around the living room, doing whatever it is he does to entertain himself. Richie glances over at Eddie and sees him leaning against the counter, arms folded as he shifts his weight onto them and off of his legs.</p>
<p>“Eds,” Richie says softly, grabbing his cane and taking the few steps over to him on the opposite side of the kitchen. Eddie looks up at him, and Richie can tell in his eyes that he knows what Richie’s thinking. Richie knows that Eddie struggles with accepting help, accepting that he does sometimes need help. He hates how people look at him with worry and pity now, how people will ask if he needs help with doors when he goes out for coffee or out to eat.</p>
<p>Richie silently hands Eddie his cane before clapping him on the shoulder, careful not to let his hand linger too long because he thinks he’ll want it to stay touching Eddie forever if he lets it. “Can we move this party to the living room? These knees are old as fuck, Eds, and they took a big impact from dropping over ten feet in a demon clown’s lair.”</p>
<p>Eddie snorts but nods, grabbing his cane and hefting himself upright. Richie swoops in and grabs both of their coffee mugs, ignoring Eddie’s small glare as he heads into the living room. Harold dashes to their feet when he sees them, tongue lolling out of his mouth as he looks up at Richie and follows them over to the couch.</p>
<p>“He is actually surprisingly well trained for a puppy,” Richie says as he sets the mugs down and flops onto the couch.</p>
<p>“I think he hasn’t hit his toddler phase yet,” Eddie sighs, sitting down next to Richie, close enough so that Richie can feel the warmth of Eddie’s thigh just barely pressed against his own. “And he’s still getting used to me and the house. He does like to eat my shoes already, though.”</p>
<p>Harold flops onto his back at their feet, exposing his belly and wagging his tail at them. Richie laughs and leans down to scratch at his chest, smiling softly at him. He’s always been a dog guy but never was in one place long enough to even think about getting a dog.</p>
<p>“What made you get him?” Richie asks after a few moments of silence, glancing up at Eddie and trying to ignore the way the light from the TV makes the light in Eddie’s eyes shine. “Other than the obvious midlife crisis you’re currently having.”</p>
<p>Eddie huffs out a laugh. “Shut the fuck up,” he says, smacking his hand on Richie’s thigh. He glances down at Harold for a second, letting his hand linger on Richie’s thigh. Richie swears he might be leaning into his side a little bit, but he really isn’t sure if it’s actually happening or if it’s just his wishful thinking. “I don’t know, really. Someone at work said their dog had puppies and they wanted them all gone by Christmas. She showed me pictures and he was like. In the corner by himself in the picture? I asked to come meet them, and he just came and sat at my feet. I took him home the same day.”</p>
<p>“So what you’re telling me,” Richie says slowly, turning his head to grin at Eddie, “Is that you’re really just a big fucking softy?”</p>
<p>Eddie laughs, shoving Richie in the shoulder until he’s tumbling sideways on the couch. “Shut the fuck up, shithead,” he grumbles, scooting himself to the opposite side of the couch. “I’m not fucking soft.”</p>
<p>“Tender, even,” Richie goes on, feeling giddy like he always does when he’s able to get a rise out of Eddie.</p>
<p>“I’m not fucking tender!” Eddie grumbles again, loud enough that Harold startles from where he was snoozing on the floor, bolting upright and turning in a circle as his tail wags behind him.</p>
<p>“If you’re really that lonely, just say the word, Spagheds,” Richie continues, but as soon as the words are out of his mouth, he wonders if maybe he isn’t joking anymore. “I’ll make sure you’re never lonely again.”</p>
<p>Eddie’s laughter quiets down, and Richie hesitantly glances over at him, squeezing his hands in his lap and wondering if he maybe crossed a line. Fuck, he really should watch himself, Eddie’s going to <em>know</em> if he isn’t careful, and then everything will be different and ruined and –</p>
<p>“Maybe I am,” Eddie whispers, more to himself than Richie. “It’s just. Fucking hard.”</p>
<p>Richie thinks he gets it, mainly because he’s been alone for most of his adult life. He grew used to it, trying not to let himself get buried under the stifling loneliness he would feel on any given night, often blaming his work and tour schedule and overall personality for his lack of permanent companionship. He still feels lonely, even now with the Losers back in his life and Bill just 30 minutes away and with the knowledge that they were generally cursed by the fucking space clown. But maybe that’s because he feels like half of his heart is on the opposite coast at any given point.</p>
<p>Fucking sappy. He’s the one who should be sniped for being tender.</p>
<p>“I’ve never really done anything for myself. Or even lived by myself,” Eddie goes on, snapping Richie out of his thoughts. “It was my mom and then Myra, and now I’m on my own and I have a fucking cane and I get tired after standing for five minutes, and then when I sit down I’m just here by myself, staring out the window at all these houses around me with happy families and holiday decorations and snowmen built in their front yards and I just. I don’t know. I don’t miss my mom or Myra, fuck no. I just. Haven’t been physically alone in a long time.”</p>
<p>“You know I’m only ever a phone call away,” Richie says softly, scooting back over so that he’s right next to Eddie again. He ducks his head down to look into his eyes, trying to catch his glaze.</p>
<p>“I know,” Eddie whispers, his eyes meeting Richie’s. “It’s just not the same.”</p>
<p>And Richie gets that, he really does, because every time they’re on the phone, all he can think about is how he wishes he were sitting next to Eddie instead.</p>
<p>They lapse into silence, the only noise coming from the faint hum of the TV that’s currently playing Hallmark movies and the thumping of Harold’s tail against the carpet. Richie thinks about how easy it would be to wrap his arm around Eddie like he did last night, to plant a kiss to the side of his head and let himself fall for Eddie even more.</p>
<p>Richie has to hold in a groan at the thought. He’s been at Eddie’s approximately 15 hours and he’s already yearning more than he has in his entire fucking life.</p>
<p>“So about your lack of decorations,” Richie says, pulling out his phone and opening his Maps app to find the nearest store. “I’m going to decorate your house.”</p>
<p>“Richie,” Eddie groans, swatting his phone out of his hand. It lands on the couch next to Richie with a quiet thunk. “No.”</p>
<p>“It looks sad as shit here, Eds, and Christmas is in only a few days away now,” Richie grabs his phone again, glaring at Eddie before clicking back to the store’s website.</p>
<p>“I have a tree,” Eddie says. “A fake one, in the basement. I just can’t put it up myself.”</p>
<p>“Do you have decorations? Ornaments? We should get a real tree.” Richie prattles on, ignoring how his heart flips a little in his chest with his use of the universal ‘we.’</p>
<p>“We can’t have a real tree, I have <em>allergies</em>, Richie, I’ll be taking Allegra and Zyrtec and –” Eddie prattles on, listing all of his allergy medications that he would have to take if a real pine tree were to set a single branch inside the house.</p>
<p>“Okay, we’ll put up your fake tree, but we need lights and ornaments and maybe a ribbon,” Richie cuts Eddie off once he’s had enough of listening about Eddie’s pharmacy. “Maybe a wreath. Some little snowmen.”</p>
<p>Eddie huffs, grabbing his own phone and clicking to the same website as Richie. “Fine,” he relents. “Just the inside, though.”</p>
<p>Richie blinks at his cart on his phone, raising an eyebrow at the outside lights and light-up reindeer for the yard that he already managed to put in his cart. For Eddie’s own sake, he feels like the outside should at least be decorated a <em>little</em> bit. He’s sure Eddie’s neighbors are wondering why he’s so Scrooge-y, so really, helping him to decorate the outside would be a public service. He might just have to do it when Eddie is either napping or out of the house, though.</p>
<p>“Perfect,” Richie grins, deciding that not telling Eddie about his secret plans are probably for the best. “I’ll go to the store later, if you want. I can get everything that we need.”</p>
<p>Eddie glances at him, narrowing his eyes at him for a second. “Why are you doing this?” Eddie asks slowly. “You don’t even celebrate Christmas.”</p>
<p>Richie shrugs. “It’s a holiday, man. I kind of just celebrate everything. Grew up going to both parties. And you celebrate it.”</p>
<p><em>And I love you,</em> Richie thinks, his eyes widening as he hopes he didn’t fucking say that out loud. Fucking hell, he is so fucking screwed if he can’t even control his brain for a single morning. At least his mouth knows not to start rambling every thought that enters his mind, something that 13-year-old Richie had no concept of. Maybe there are some perks of being a middle-aged man after all.</p>
<p>“Okay,” Eddie says again, leaning back against the couch and letting out a yawn. “I’ll make us an early dinner and you can go get the stuff then.”</p>
<p>Richie nods, watching as Eddie’s eyes droop closed, already tired after only being awake for a few hours so far. He still has bags under his eyes despite getting a full night’s rest, the soft fabric of his hoodie hanging off of him loosely in a way that Richie is sure it didn’t used to. Not for the first time, Richie thinks that he looks tired and maybe a little worn down.</p>
<p>Richie grabs a blanket that’s resting on the top of the couch, draping it over Eddie’s now sleeping form. He lets his eyes linger on Eddie’s face, soft and relaxed in the morning light from the window. He swallows, trying to quell his thoughts that are just chanting <em>I love you, I love you, I love you </em>over and over in his head. Because he does, even in the quietest of moments when Eddie is just being vulnerable and himself.</p>
<p>But maybe that’s what love is. Richie wouldn’t know, but he’s thinking he might be starting to get the idea.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Richie comes back from the store, shivering in his light jacket, snow stuck to his sneakers and seeping into his socks. He closes the door shut behind him, shaking in the doorway for a second as the heat from inside Eddie’s house begins to warm him up. Fuck, maybe he <em>should</em> invest in some winter gear, at <em>least </em>a winter coat and maybe some boots if he’s going to be spending more time here –</p>
<p>Richie blinks at the bags in his hand, pausing his thoughts as he realizes that he’s already planning on actively spending more time in New York with Eddie. Fucking hell, he might be the most idiotic and lovesick human on the planet if he’s subconsciously making plans to spend more time with his best friend who he is also in love with on the opposite end of the country.</p>
<p>Richie toes off his shoes and puts them up on the shelf so that Harold can’t get to them, grinning as the puppy comes sliding down the hallway, running into Richie’s legs with a soft yelp.</p>
<p>“You’re not super coordinated yet, are you, little man?” Richie asks him, reaching down to scoop him up with one hand as he walks into the kitchen. Eddie is standing at the stove, stirring whatever he’s making as he glances over at Richie when he hears him enter the kitchen.</p>
<p>“Hey, did you find everything you . . .” Eddie starts, trailing off as he glances at Richie. Richie raises an eyebrow at him, wondering why Eddie suddenly trailed off and now won’t stop looking at him as he’s holding Harold. He shrugs it off as Eddie just being Eddie, pressing a small kiss to the top of Harold’s head, grinning as his tail thumps gently against Richie’s waist.</p>
<p>“What are you making?” Richie asks, setting the bags in his other hand down on the counter, moving to shift Harold to the center of his chest so he can hold him with both hands. “It smells good.”</p>
<p>Richie tries not to think about how normal this feels. It would be so easy for him to imagine him coming home to Eddie every day, or Eddie coming home to him, both of them coming home together to share a meal in their home. Fucking sappy. Richie is just a yearning shithead.</p>
<p>Eddie doesn’t reply, still staring at Richie and blinking a few times, letting Richie know that he is at least still alive in there. Richie raises an eyebrow at him, scratching behind Harold’s ears before clearing his throat once. “Eds? You good?”</p>
<p>Eddie’s eyes snap back up to Richie’s face, and Richie wonders why he was staring at Harold cuddled against Richie’s chest.</p>
<p>“Yeah, uh, sorry,” Eddie says quickly, turning back to the stove. “I’m, um, making stir fry? It’s kind of all I know how to make.”</p>
<p>Eddie sets lid on the pot before turning back around, looking at Richie but not directly at him.</p>
<p>“I’m sure it will be fine,” Richie says, leaning against the counter and smiling down at Harold as he falls asleep against his chest. “It smells good.”</p>
<p>Harold lets out a small whimper against his chest. He’s glad that he feels safe enough with Richie to fall asleep and be so vulnerable with him. He doesn’t have much experience with that, truthfully, always full of love to give with no real recipient to receive it. It’s nice; a good feeling that he wasn’t sure he would be able to experience. Granted, it’s with a puppy, but maybe Richie should reevaluate his stance on getting a dog once he’s back home.</p>
<p>The music Eddie has playing in the kitchen changes from <em>Rocking Around The Christmas Tree </em>to <em>Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas</em>. Richie glances up at Eddie as the music shifts, both of them looking over at the speaker on the counter. Somewhere in the past few minutes since Eddie put the lid on the stir fry, he’s creeped closer to Richie to lean against the counter next to him, close enough that Richie can feel the heat of his body next to him. Richie feels his heart flip in his chest as the music starts to play, and he looks at Eddie again to see him gazing directly at him.</p>
<p>“You’re good with him,” Eddie says softly, smiling down at Harold again. Richie watches him, wonders if he’s imagining the softening of Eddie’s expression as he looks at them, hoping that it’s not just his brain telling him things he wishes he was seeing.</p>
<p>“Puppies are the easiest thing in the world to love,” Richie whispers in reply, knowing that Eddie is close enough where he can still hear him.</p>
<p>Eddie opens his mouth to say something before pausing, and Richie tries not to think about what he wishes Eddie would say. He knows what <em>he’s</em> thinking, what Richie wishes he could say right now, about how Eddie is the easiest thing in the world to love simply because it happened without either of them even having to try. Eddie’s a fucking asshole for being easy for Richie to love, he thinks, because now he has all this love in his chest that has nowhere to go.</p>
<p>Richie sets Harold down, laughing as he blinks sleepily up at him before stretching and wandering off into the living room, presumably to where his bed is. He glances back at Eddie, who’s looking directly at him again. Richie lets his eyes roll up to the ceiling for a second, gathering his thoughts and his composure before he makes a fool of himself and does something dumb like kiss him.</p>
<p>“Dance with me,” Richie says suddenly, surprising himself as he didn’t even think about asking this beforehand. So much for not doing anything dumb. Eddie frowns at him for a second, glancing over at the radio and then at his cane before looking back at Richie.</p>
<p>“I can’t really . . .” Eddie trails off, biting his lip and – okay, that’s not really the answer Richie was expecting, if he’s honest. He was expecting Eddie to roll his eyes and call him dumb, to say no before shoving him away and heading back to the stove. But Eddie stands there for a second before turning around, flicking off the heat on the stove and turning back to Richie.</p>
<p>“I can’t really dance,” Eddie says again, quiet, gesturing at his cane that’s resting against the counter. “But I can like. Sway, probably.”</p>
<p>“Oh, then we will sway the night away, Eddie baby,” Richie grins, holding a hand out for Eddie.</p>
<p>Eddie ducks his head and Richie isn’t sure if it’s the dim lighting of the kitchen, but he swears Eddie might be blushing. He slips his hand into Richie’s, and Richie tugs him closer. His free hand hovers over Eddie’s waist for a second, unsure what he should do with it before he feels Eddie’s other hand wrapping under his arm and around the back of his shoulders, his fingers fanned across the expanse of Richie’s back. Richie can feel the warmth from his hand and from his body so close to his. He sets his hand on Eddie’s waist, feeling warmth spread throughout his chest as Eddie takes another step closer, close enough so that they are pressed almost completely together, their faces only a few inches apart.</p>
<p>They begin swaying to the music, and Richie is completely sure that Eddie can probably feel his heart pounding in his chest because of how close they are. It’s embarrassing that he can’t control his own body. He is 40 fucking years old; he really should have some semblance of control over himself at this point. But he never really has with Eddie, not since they were kids, not back in Derry when he held Eddie tightly as Neibolt threatened to collapse over them, yelling at Mike and Ben to carry Eddie out, threatening to stay with him until they finally relented and scooped him up to carry him out. Everything he does regarding Eddie is both selfish and selfless, coming from a place of only wanting to love Eddie but willing to do anything for him.</p>
<p>He is so fucking whipped by Eddie fucking Kaspbrak.</p>
<p>Eddie’s hand tightens in the back of Richie’s shirt as they continue to sway to the music, taking another step closer even though Richie isn’t sure how that’s even possible. He presses his nose into Richie’s shoulder and takes a deep inhale, and Richie isn’t sure why <em>that</em> makes his heart almost stop in his chest, but it does.</p>
<p>“Eds . . .” Richie starts, softly, quietly, but unsure how to continue. Eddie lifts his head up and looks at him, eyes wide and eyebrows drawn as they so often are. “I . . .”</p>
<p>Eddie nods, and Richie wonders why the fuck he’s nodding when Richie didn’t even say anything. Richie himself knows how he wants to end that, knows how easily a simple ‘I love you’ would fit right there, but he can’t do that to Eddie, can’t do that to their friendship.</p>
<p>“I know,” Eddie whispers, and Richie really wishes that he knew what the fuck Eddie was talking about. Eddie visibly takes a deep breath before leaning in, closer, his eyes watching Richie’s to make sure that this is okay. Richie doesn’t even know what’s really happening, because he is <em>sure</em> Eddie Kaspbrak is not about to kiss him; that would be too good to be true for his sad, shitty life.</p>
<p>But Eddie is still leaning in, and Richie finally starts to think that okay, maybe he <em>is</em> about to kiss him. Eddie’s eyes are shining in the light of the setting sun creeping in from the kitchen window, his lips soft and chapped from the harsh winter air, and fucking hell, Richie needs to –</p>
<p>The song switches and suddenly Mariah Carey’s <em>All I Want For Christmas Is You </em>starts blaring on the radio, louder than the previous song and startling both of them. Eddie visibly jumps in front of him, his hand slackening from where it was gripping the nape of Richie’s shirt tightly. Richie blinks at him for a few more moments, Eddie blinking back before dropping his gaze and clearing his throat.</p>
<p>Neither of them seem to want to move. Richie would literally rather die than remove his hands from Eddie, the feeling of him so close all his heart has really ever really wanted. But the fizzling of the stir fry behind them draws Eddie’s attention over to the stove. He bites his lip again and slowly removes his hands, clearing his throat again and taking the few steps over towards it.</p>
<p>“It’s, um, done,” Eddie says slowly, stirring the food before grabbing two plates out of the cabinet.</p>
<p>“Great,” Richie replies, startled but the amount of cheerfulness in his voice when his insides feel like there are a thousand tiny knots. “Just one second, let me hit the loo.”</p>
<p>“Call it a bathroom, asshole, we’re in fucking America,” Eddie calls after him as Richie heads down the hall and towards the bathroom.</p>
<p>Richie closes the door and turns to stare at himself in the mirror. He looks a little frazzled, if he’s honest. His hair is a mess just from the day, the wind outside not helping anything. His cheeks are still a little pink tinged, either from the cold or from whatever the fuck just happened in the kitchen. Richie splashes some water on his face and dries it off, but even that isn’t enough to change the fact that he is pretty sure Eddie almost just kissed him.</p>
<p>He does not have time to ponder this right now, though. There’s stir fry waiting for him, probably on the table by now, and there really is no room for things to be awkward. But if Eddie almost kissed him . . .</p>
<p>Holy fucking shit. He feels like a teenager contemplating whether or not his crush likes him or not. But that’s exactly what he’s doing because he can’t get the fucking image of Eddie leaning closer to him out of his head.</p>
<p>He’s fine. It’s fine. Eddie is his best friend and best friends can almost kiss all the time. It’s perfectly normal, especially after a near-death experience. It’s chill.</p>
<p>“Rich!” Eddie yells from the kitchen. “Unless you’re like, actively vomiting or something, get the fuck out here because your food is getting cold.”</p>
<p>Richie huffs out a laugh. Things seem to be normal, then, if Eddie’s making jokes about Richie’s unfortunate vomiting habit. He heads into the kitchen and sees Eddie sitting at the table, the spot across from him ready with a plate of food for Richie, and Richie feels himself about to die on the spot again.</p>
<p>He is so fucking screwed by how much he wants a life with Eddie. Maybe even moreso than the amount he wants to kiss him. Their friendship has revolved solely around Richie making Eddie happy and making him laugh and riling him up, even as kids back in Derry. But he also really wants to fucking kiss him.</p>
<p>He takes a bite of the stir fry, which is actually surprisingly good for how much Eddie talks about being unable to cook. When he tells Eddie so, Eddie looks so incredibly proud of himself that Richie feels like he needs to go lie down for a solid hour because of how fucking cute he looks.</p>
<p>And that’s when Richie realizes that he is, actually, incredibly fucked and 100% head-over-heels in love with Eddie Kaspbrak. Which, of course, he knew, but he’s sure that there’s no turning back from this feeling now. It’s his forever.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks for reading! This fic will be 3 parts &lt;3 Unestablished relationship is usually not my writing jam, so please let me know how it's going!!</p>
<p>You can find me on twitter at edskasper!</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>